


Ages

by waffles_007



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Domestic Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 22:46:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3358076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waffles_007/pseuds/waffles_007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look into Daryl's past and his relationship with his brother as he grows up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ages

**Author's Note:**

> I felt that Daryl needed a back story to explain 'Angry Daryl' and his bond to his brother, Merle.
> 
> Written in 2011.

When Daryl is four and Merle is at least twelve, his older brother locks the two of them in their room when their dad comes home drunk and is in the kitchen screaming at their mother. He hears the thundering bellows of his father and heavy footsteps in the kitchen. They are uneven in his drunken swagger. He hears the high pitched screams of his mother as she tries to stay out of her husband's way. He hears the crashing sounds of breaking glass. Daryl raises tiny fists to his ears to block the sounds while hot tears stream down his face, spilling over his cheeks. Merle wraps his arms around him, holds his face tight against his shirt and rocks him gently to calm him down. "It'll be over soon, Daryl. Always is."

Daryl keeps his face buried in Merle's grungy t-shirt, smelling the dirt streaked on it and feeling the wet patches his tears have made - he feels safe. His big brother always protects him. And he idolizes him for that. 

Daryl hears the sharp crack of a leather belt and the unrelenting sobs of his mother and in that moment something changes in Merle's face. His brother turns bright red and his eyes blaze with hatred. Merle picks him up, carries him to the closet and leaves him in there. He tells him to stay hidden, gives him his favorite ragged and dingy stuffed tiger Bert, and closes the door. Daryl sits and cries, breath hitching, snot dripping from his nose, tucked in the dark corner of the closet alone just listening.

Seconds later he hears Merle, in all his adolescent rage screaming in the kitchen. "Don't touch Ma! Stop it! Jus' stop it!" He hears more yelling, a deeper voice this time. "Git the fuck outta my way kid!" Merle shouts back. "Don' touch her!" Then Daryl feels a thump on the back wall of the closet and Merle screaming and his mother screeching, "Don' touch the boy!" and his father yelling. "Fuckin' bastard!" 

Daryl sits in the closet crying wet tears into Bert's matted fur.

After that, Merle sports a really gross blue/black/green bruise on his left cheek. Daryl sits in Merle's lap, small fingers reaching up poking at the different colors and watches as Merle winces, but never once yells at him to stop. 

***

When Daryl is six and Merle is around fourteen, he follows his brother around like a lost puppy and is constantly trying to get his attention. "Merle! Merle! Lookit me!" Daryl is hanging upside down, legs hooked around a thin branch on the tree about six feet off the ground. Merle can't figure out how Daryl got up there, there's nothing to stand on. "Merle! Lookit!" And Daryl starts to swing using his arms to make him sway back and forth, loving the feel of the air in his face. Merle walks over, grabs his brother around the torso and pulls him from the branch. "Hey!" Daryl kicks and squirms in frustration.

Merle sets Daryl down on the ground and stands, glaring down at him. "What're you doin'? You want Dad to see you up there?"

"Merle." Daryl whines out his brother's name, bottom lip sticking out petulantly, arms crossed in front of his chest. "I was jus' havin' fun."

Merle crouches down, sitting back on his heels and speaks to Daryl. "I know you was jus' havin' fun, but Dad told you to pick up 'em sticks in the yard." 

"But Merle…" Daryl sees Merle stiffen the second after he hears the squeaky metal screen door slam behind them. Merle stands up. Daryl watches as his dad comes striding over.

Something doesn't look quite right about his dad, but Daryl is too young to know that the red bloodshot eyes and glazed looks are synonymous with drunkenness. 

"The fuck you doin' in that tree? I tol' you to clean up yard you little shit."

Daryl tucks his chin into his chest and tries to disappear into the dirt avoiding the sour funk of his father's breath.

"He was jus' takin' a break." Merle tries to step between his father and his little brother. He's met with a strong forearm knocking him back hard onto the ground. 

Daryl cringes when his father turns back to face him. "Git up." Daryl uses his feet to scoot back. "I said, git up!" Daryl feels tears welling in his eyes as his father reaches for him. Merle looks blurry through the tears when Daryl sees him jump up and run over to him. The tears tumble down when his father whips around and gives Merle a bruise on his right cheek with his closed fist. "Merle!"

Daryl feels himself being heaved up by strong hands, rough, pulling hands, and kicks and screams as his father drags him away off to the side of their run down, dilapidated house. He closes his eyes and cries and cries each time the leather belt comes down across his back. 

Afterwards, he runs to his room and slams the door. He hides in the back of the closet, his back stings and he clutches his stuffed tiger Bert to his chest and cries silently. He hopes that Merle is ok. He loves Merle. Merle tries to stick up for him. Merle tries to protect him. He hates his dad.

***

When Daryl is eight and Merle is sixteen, he is caught in the room that he shares with his brother, struggling to load Merle's heavy crossbow. He strains and pulls but can not get the heavy cord to pull back far enough to click into place, allowing him the room to insert the cold metal bolt. He wants to be just like Merle. A hunter, a fighter, strong, and really scary. 

"Put it down, Daryl." Merle extracts the heavy weapon from Daryl's grip and ruffles the sun bleached hair on his little brother's head. "Yer' too young to play with that." Daryl sticks his tongue out. He's too young for anything. Too young to go hunting. Too young to hang out with Merle's cool friends. Too young for anything – but chores.

"I'll teach ya when yer older, ok?"

"When'll that be, Merle?" 

"When you don' sleep with Bert anymore." Merle looks over at the stuffed tiger, noticing that he's missing an eye, his ear is chewed to pieces, and he's got stuffing coming out of one foot.

That night, Daryl takes Bert into the closet and sits with him, holds him, talks to him. Daryl wants to be older. Wants to be 'grown-up', like Merle. "Bert. I hafta grow up." And he bites his lower lip, tries to be 'grown-up' and sits in the dark.

***

When Daryl is ten and Merle is eighteen, they are out in the woods hunting. Well, technically Merle is hunting and Daryl is pointing his bow and arrow at anything that moves. Even at stuff that doesn't. He's learned a lot from Merle in the last two years, how to walk quietly in the underbrush, how to shoot a bow and arrow (he's still too young to use the crossbow, says Merle), and how to take a lashing without crying out. 

Daryl finds that when he's out hunting with Merle, his life is good. There's no yelling. No screaming. No fighting. No beating. He likes the stillness of the forest and the closeness of his brother. His protector. 

"Shhh…" Merle hisses as he turns to look at Daryl and waves his hand, motioning for the younger Dixon to get down. Daryl looks and sees a grey fox, his muzzle bloodied and buried in what appears to be a mangled squirrel. He holds his breath and waits for Merle to tell him what to do. Merle makes a silent motion that mimics shooting a bow and arrow and nods to Daryl and smiles. 

Daryl's eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to speak. Merle glares, putting one finger to his lips. Daryl is so excited. Merle always gets to kill things. He just lets Daryl help gut and dress the animals he gets. The bow is practically shaking in his hands as he notches the arrow while drawing back the string. Daryl sees the ears on the fox perk up and swivel as if it has heard something, but after a moment digs its face back into the squirrel, using its paw to hold the meat in place as it rips with sharp teeth.

Daryl breathes in and looks down the straight shaft of the arrow and lets the shot go with a twang when Merle winks at him. The arrow buries itself deep into the throat of the fox and after a bit of frantic pacing the animal lets out a garbled whine and collapses. 

Merle slaps Daryl on the back. "Good shot!" And Daryl beams from ear to ear. He lives for Merle's praise. He's so proud of himself as they walk back home, the fox slung over Merle's shoulder, Daryl carrying his bow and arrows like they're made of precious gems. 

When they get back, Daryl runs through the yard. "Ma! Ma! I killed a fox! Merle let me shoot 'im!" 

Daryl is greeted with silence. "Ma?" The creaky metal screen door is hanging off one hinge, swinging lightly in the breeze. There looks like there is something smudged on the faded chipped paint on the front door. Merle drops the fox and his crossbow at the base of a tree and grabs Daryl by the hand and pulls him up the front stairs. 

Stepping through the front door, the first thing Daryl sees is his mother curled up in the kitchen, knees pressed to her chest, and her bloody apron bunched up around her face. Daryl runs over to her and drops to his knees. "Ma!" Daryl's mother looks up, one eye completely full of blood and she has a large gash across her cheek, it's still bleeding a little bit. "Daryl… go to yer' room, honey." Daryl feels the anger building in his stomach. He feels like he's going to throw up.

"Where is he Ma?" Daryl hears Merle hollering, the sound fading and growing louder as he hears doors opening then slamming. "Where the fuck is he?"

Daryl's mom just sighs. "He left."

***

When Daryl is twelve and Merle is twenty, Daryl feels like he is all grown up and he's lonely, hardened, and quick to anger. Merle doesn't live at home anymore, he lives in a derelict tin can of a trailer out in the woods, and Daryl doesn't have Merle around anymore to protect him. Their dad has come back, still a drunk, still a violent bastard. And he still finds any reason to beat some sense into Daryl and his mom.

***

When Daryl is fourteen and Merle is twenty-two, Daryl shows up on Merle's doorstep with two black eyes and his arm in a sling. 

Daryl pounds on the side of the trailer, over and over with his good hand. No one answers. He kicks at the door, denting the thin metal until his foot hurts. No one answers. Daryl slumps down on the crooked stairs and hangs his head. He screws his eyes closed, pushing down the tears that threaten to come forward, he's so angry, his arm hurts, and he needs his brother. And his brother isn't there. Daryl sighs really deeply and just sits as tears run down his cheeks in anger.

It's been a while when Daryl hears the crunch of tires running over the gravel and dirt path that leads up to Merle's trailer. He doesn't bother raising his head when he hears the door slam. Now that he's here, he's embarrassed that he came running to his big brother. He's embarrassed he can't handle himself, and embarrassed that his eyes are bloodshot from crying. 

"Daryl? Th' fuck you doin' here?" Merle ambles over to the stairs and stands in front of Daryl. Daryl shrugs without lifting his head. "Th' fuck happened to you?" 

Daryl peeks up at Merle. His big brother. Protector. Who failed to protect him. Daryl chastises himself, it's not Merle's fault. Merle had the sense to get out of there when he could.

"Dad."

"I'll kill that fucker." Merle slams his fist into the side of his trailer; can't that bastard leave Daryl alone? He's a kid. But then again, Merle remembers when he was a kid, fourteen and twelve and sixteen and Dad was the same to him. 

"Git inside." Merle squeezes past Daryl and steps into his home. Daryl gets up slowly, his arm screaming with pain and follows his brother inside. Merle clears a spot for Daryl on his threadbare couch by throwing a pile of dirty clothes and empty beer cans on the floor. He slams two shot glasses down on leaning table and proceeds to pour two shots of Southern Comfort, spilling a few drops on the stained wooden surface. "It'll take th' pain away." And Merle downs the shot.

Daryl picks up the small glass and puts it to his nose. He wrinkles his face in disgust as the pungent alcoholic smell assaults his nose. "Jus' drink it." Daryl sticks his tongue out and dips it into the amber colored liquid, feeling the burn. But he tells himself he's all grown up and closes his eyes and tries to swallow the whole shot at once. He's reduced to coughing and sputtering as the liquid chokes him on the way down. Merle laughs.

"So what th' fuck happened?"

Daryl smacks his lips a little, trying to get the putrid taste out of his mouth. "I busted th' radio." He pauses. "I didn' mean to." 

***

When Daryl is sixteen and Merle is twenty four, Daryl finds out that Merle is in jail when he hears his mom through the thin walls on the phone with the police. Apparently his dad hears this too because in about three seconds flat, the receiver is in pieces and there is an ear-piece shaped hole in the wall next to where the phone hangs. "Hope he rots in there." He hears his father's raised voice. "Honey…" He hears his mom. Daryl drops his weights when he hears the familiar thump on the wall and his mothers cry.

His adrenaline is pumping. He's absolutely enraged. He has had absolutely enough. "Fuck you, Dad!" Daryl comes running into the small kitchen. "'Scuse me?" His dad lets go of his mother and he turns to face Daryl. "Fuck you! Fuckin' leave Mom alone." 

"Don' tell me wha' to do wit' my wife, bastard." Daryl blocks a solid punch coming at his face. He grips his father's fist in his hand and squeezes and twists the man's arm. His father lets out a growl and Daryl feels pain in his temple explode when his father's free hand slams into his head. Daryl sees red. Before he knows it, he's barreled over his father and has him down on the ground slamming his fists into his face. Daryl hears a sickening crunch when his fist collides with his father's nose and feels hot sticky blood covering his knuckles as he keeps punching. "Fuck you!" He screams over and over as his father tries unsuccessfully to block the blows. 

"Daryl! Stop!" His mother's voice is so faint behind him. She's crying, sobbing, trying to grab hold of her son's arms. "Daryl!" 

Daryl leans in, putting his face just inches from his father's and spits. "Fuck. You. Old. Man." He pushes himself up off the floor and gives his father one last kick in the ribs as he storms out of the room. He hears his mother crying and hears her down on the floor talking to her battered husband. 

Daryl goes to his room, stuffs some clothes into a worn green backpack, grabs his wallet and storms out of the house, practically taking the decrepit screen door off the hinges when he slams through it. 

***

When Daryl is eighteen and Merle is twenty six, Daryl is passed out cold on the same threadbare couch where he had his first shot of SoCo four years ago. This is where Merle finds his brother when he finally gets out after spending two years locked up for aggravated assault. He finds his brother, bottle tipped towards the floor, a pool of liquor drying into the stained carpet, and wonders how long he's been there. Merle takes a thin blanket from a pile in the corner and lays it over Daryl's sleeping form. 

Daryl has been there for two years. Hunting. And waiting for Merle.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the Walking Dead. That would be Frank Darabond and Robert Kirkman (and probably many others). Nor do I own the characters (see above).


End file.
